The dirt road was half-muddied due to the snow and the passage of the cavalry. Each step sank slightly, making the journey slow and laborious. Aron walked along the edge of the road, wrapped in a heavy cloak he had found in the abandoned house. The cold wind, ceaseless and biting, was his only companion.

“The cold feels different,” he murmured to himself, pulling the cloak tighter. “Or maybe I just feel it differently.”

“Of course,” the Voice replied, its tone almost amused. “You’ve got frost mana coursing through you.”

“Speaking of which… care to explain where this method comes from?” The question drifted into the wind as Aron gazed up at the overcast sky.

“You already know,” the Voice replied cryptically. “In time, you’ll figure it out.”

Aron gritted his teeth in frustration. “Always with your damned games…” he muttered, knowing full well that if the Voice didn’t want to answer, it never would.

“Anyway,” he continued, his gaze shifting back to the road ahead, “at least explain how this all works. You seem to know everything, don’t you?”

“As always, you need me,” the Voice said, its tone dripping with satisfaction.

Aron huffed but didn’t reply.

“It’s simple,” the Voice began without waiting for permission to continue. “Do you remember the Prana training from when you were younger?”

“Of course I do,” Aron replied, a shadow of frustration in his tone. “Not that I ever really felt it…” The memory of his failure still stung.

“Logical. Without me, you were useless,” the Voice said with a sharp laugh. Then, more seriously, it continued, “Prana is the energy generated at the intersection of the physical and spiritual dimensions, produced by every living being…” It paused, as if giving him time to process. “…whereas mana is the same thing, but originating from matter and energy. Everything in the world—earth, metal, air, fire—has its own emanation in the spiritual dimension. From this intersection, mana is born.”

Aron frowned, trying to absorb all this information. “So that’s how it all works? That’s why I feel frost mana so strongly but barely sense fire mana…”

“Congratulations, genius,” the Voice replied, dripping with sarcasm. “We’re in winter, surrounded by frost. Which mana do you think is most abundant?”

Aron sighed, ignoring the provocative tone. “I’m starting to understand now…” A part of him felt relieved to finally put his thoughts in order, though another part remained irritated by the Voice’s attitude. At least he wasn’t getting angry anymore.

After a moment, he spoke again. “Then why couldn’t I sense Prana when I tried as a boy?”

“Because both mana and Prana have a spiritual side. You need to be in sync with what you’re trying to attract. It’s like dancing with someone—if you don’t find the right rhythm, you can’t follow their lead.”

Aron raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpectedly poetic analogy. The Voice continued, oblivious to his reaction. “Prana is usually the simplest to access. After all, you’re a living being: flesh, bones, blood. It’s natural for you to align with the energy of life. But even that requires concentration and understanding. And, as I recall, you were terrible at both.”

Aron let the jab pass, though he grimaced slightly in irritation. “So it’s all about being in sync?”

“More or less. And that harmony shifts based on your surroundings and mentality. Here, for instance, you’re surrounded by frost. Frost mana flows everywhere—in the wind, in the snow, even in your body. It’s easy to sense. But if you were in a desert, fire and sand would dominate, and frost would be almost impossible to perceive. It’s a game of balance. Nature decides. And you…” The Voice paused deliberately, drawing out the moment. “…you must adapt.”

Aron nodded slowly, more focused than ever. Every word added a piece to the puzzle he was trying to solve. For the first time, he felt like he had a foundation for understanding this power that had always eluded him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he had the Voice to thank for that.

“Alright, what about knights?” Aron asked, his tone more direct. “I remember that, in theory, as soon as we sensed Prana, we were supposed to channel it through our bodies in specific ways, gradually constructing pathways so that it could flow to every part of us.”

“Wow, seems like you paid attention during the knights’ lectures, unlike with mana,” the Voice replied with a sharp edge.

“Anyway, in general terms, yes, that’s correct. But remember: when you’re building those channels, you’re starting to emulate another living being. Take the Cervid family, for example. Every noble practices the method of the Draken adorned as their banner—a Draken with the body of a stag but the beak and talons of an eagle.”

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“Draken?” Aron furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar term.

“Don’t tell me you only focused on the knights and ignored everything else? You’d be lost without me,” the Voice said, with a mix of disdain and self-satisfaction.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the stupid one, and you’re the genius,” Aron replied sarcastically.

“I see you’re finally opening your eyes,” the Voice retorted, taking his words as genuine. “The Draken, anyway, are one of the seven superior races. Our empire bases its training methods on them. The Eastern Empire, on the other hand, uses the model of the Titans, while the Southern Empire draws from the Demons.”

It was a lot to process for Aron, and each word felt like it was revealing a world he hadn’t even known existed. It was hard to believe that, in such a short time since leaving his village, he had already learned so much.

“And the other races?” he asked, curiosity rekindled within him—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“I know of two more,” the Voice replied after a brief hesitation. “One is the human race, of course. The other… I don’t know its name, but the elementals are part of it. Monomantic methods, in fact, are based on them.”

Aron was silent, surprised. Even the Voice didn’t seem to know everything, and he found that subtly amusing.

“Humans too?” Aron asked, incredulous. “All the other races sound innately powerful, but us…”

“Yes, even humans. But I don’t know why,” the Voice admitted, sounding irked by the question—or perhaps by its own lack of knowledge. “And now, enough with the useless questions!”

Aron had been walking for a long time when, after a bend in the road, he saw signs of a village ahead. Houses—some destroyed, others intact but eerily quiet—lined the sides of the path like dark silhouettes. With each step, more details came into view, but the air remained heavy with desolation.

When he reached what seemed to be the village center, he finally saw people. Their faces were pale and lifeless, their eyes hollow. They didn’t walk so much as drag themselves forward. Aron observed them for a moment, then approached.

“What a cheerful atmosphere, full of joy!” the Voice quipped, sarcasm dripping from its tone.

“What did you expect?” Aron shot back, bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Well, sometimes I forget they’re just simple humans,” the Voice sighed, its tone almost bored.

Aron walked toward a woman sitting outside a partially collapsed tavern. Her foot looked injured, and her gaze was lost in the distance.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Aron began, his voice calm but firm. “Do you know how far it is and which direction I need to take to reach Crescentmoon City?”

The woman slowly lifted her face, marked by deep wrinkles and the wear of a hard life. “If you want to reach Crescentmoon City, you need to go south for two more villages, then head east,” she answered monotonously, almost mechanically, as though the words were coming from a place too distant to hold any emotion.

“Thank you.” Aron turned without further comment and resumed walking southward.

“How fragile they are,” the Voice mused, its tone almost philosophical. “Like branches and leaves at the mercy of the wind.”

Aron didn’t reply immediately. A bittersweet sensation had taken root in his mind. He felt pity for those people, for their miserable state. At the same time, however, a growing disdain stirred within him. He knew he had been like them, that such a fate had been his, and that the Voice was right. But it wasn’t their fault. It was their nature. And for that, he felt pity.

The journey continued, leaving the small village behind. The road ahead was no different from before: desolate, wrapped in a silence broken only by the wind or the occasional chirping of birds. Aron walked at a steady pace, his cloak shielding him from the biting cold. As his feet moved forward, his thoughts turned inward, trying to untangle his doubts.

“All right,” he began, breaking the silence. “In theory, I’m already a knight, right?”

“Yes,” the Voice replied, its tone almost bored. “You have the foundation and the mana channels. Now you need to make your entire body capable of containing mana. When you succeed, you’ll reach the peak of a first-level existence.”

Aron nodded, absorbing the information. “And how do I do that, exactly? Is there a specific method?”

The Voice sighed, exasperated. “You really do have a terrible memory. You need to let the mana flow through your channels, keep pushing it into the narrower ones, and eventually, let it overflow. Your body will get damaged, obviously, but over time, it will absorb the mana’s characteristics and become able to contain and channel it without harm.”

Aron furrowed his brow, trying to picture the process. “So, I have to destroy myself to improve?”

“Exactly. Think of it like a river,” the Voice explained, its tone sharper but strangely patient. “Imagine a main waterway flowing straight. To irrigate the land around it, you need to create secondary channels. But those channels don’t exist on their own—you have to carve them out. At first, it’ll be a mess. The land will break, and the channels will overflow. But over time, the water will seep in, making the soil fertile and stable. Your body works the same way. You have to break, destroy, and then absorb.”

“And you said this process will make my body take on the characteristics of the mana?”

“Exactly. Air, fire, metal… every type of mana leaves a different mark. Right now, there are faint traces of frost within you.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t have to tell you everything. Use that brain of yours… if you can.”

Aron ignored the provocation, starting to reflect. He noticed his body felt more energetic… or rather, less prone to fatigue. The Voice had a uniquely aggravating way of explaining things, but at least it had clarified the path forward.

Eager to test himself, Aron started channeling and controlling the mana within him. But the Voice interrupted him before he could focus.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” it said, its tone sharp and condescending as ever. “You could seriously hurt yourself if you try without proper focus. And you’re not even in a safe place… but if you’re feeling lucky, go ahead.”

Aron gritted his teeth, frustrated. “Fine, I’ll wait…” he muttered, though his tone betrayed impatience. A burning desire surged within him, and to quell it, he quickened his pace, spurred on by the hope of reaching the next village before long.